


Bent

by Mrs_Apples



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, British TV Celebrities RPF, Doctor Who RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: David always gets what he wants., David has a hard time catching Richard, David is a cheeky fucker, Down and Dirty, Love Triangles, M/M, Pining, Porn With Plot, The thrill of the chase.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-01-16 08:05:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18517342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Apples/pseuds/Mrs_Apples
Summary: David Tennant has a personal agenda while filming for Top Gear. The boys have always peaked his interest and why let the opportunity go to waste. How hard can it be?Long-form Tennant/Hammond with detour via Tennant/Clarkson.  Clarkson/Hammond pining. It's complex - mainly because they can't see what's in front of them!Inspired by a dare - can you mix Tennant and Top Gear :-)





	1. Plenty under the Bonnet

"Everyone. Bit of shush. This is David Tennant, he is our star in the reasonably priced car," Andy announces, his assistant trotting at his side. They brief David on how his involvement in the day is going to pan out. 

"Skoda driver, aren't you?" Jeremy looks him straight in the eyes and pumps his hand in a firm and energetic handshake. "We'll soon make a man out of you." David pulls his hoodie around him against the morning chill. 

They all hang around, listening to Jeremy and Andy outlining the day's activities. It's even more precision planned than David was expecting, every joke and innuendo plotted out between Andy and Jeremy, and David's wondering whether it's going to be the lark he was anticipating.

James offers a welcoming smile and David follows him to the tea room where they wait for the urn to reboil after the morning rush of caffeine addicts. James talks with enthusiasm about the reasonably priced car before turning the subject to driving in London, commiserating about the congestion. David extols the comparative virtues of Cardiff traffic to James' obvious disbelief. David has just clapped James on the shoulder, laughing his rich laugh, when Jeremy pops his head in and berates May for 'man-handling the talent.' 

James gives him the two-fingered salute, despite David's grinning, "Who said I minded a bit of man-handling?" Richard, close on Jeremy's heels, offers to take David out to the track. David cradles his Styrofoam cup of steaming coffee and briefly considers the dynamic between the three presenters before inviting Richard to 'lead him on' and heading for the door. 

They stand and watch The Stig hurtling round the track. "So," begins Richard, eyes twinkling, "the rumours about you and Billie Piper? You've quite a reputation." 

David turns his most wolfish smile on him. "The rumours about you and Jeremy? I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," he says, winking conspiratorially. 

Richard looks mortified for a moment before brushing his hand self-consciously through his hair. "Oh, um, Jeremy doesn't bend that way." 

"Doesn't bend that way, or doesn't bend your way?" David notes the briefest flash of Richard's eyes.

"He doesn't bend _your_ way," Richard responds. 

The Stig roars to a halt in front of them and Richard's jaw muscles are still clenching as he turns away.

** 

Richard stands at the tea room window looking out to the track, his tea has gone cold on the bench in front of him. Jeremy is out there, large hands flapping as he waves David in from the track. Jeremy leans down to speak into David's ear. Richard pretends not to hear James clear his throat disapprovingly behind him. He looks away just as Jeremy is straightening up, opening the door for David to bound out of the car.

He can hear their voices careening closer -Jeremy heckling David about speed and power and David commenting that he's got 'plenty under the bonnet where it counts'. Jeremy's laugh is loud and delighted. 

Inside, Jeremy quizzes David about the 'ten inch' rumour as he reaches to pile rounds of sandwiches on his plate. Placing a hand in the small of Jeremy's back, David leans across the catering table to grab a bottle of water. "Well, that's on a need to know basis," he smirks, his fingers skimming along Jeremy's waist. He takes his spoils to one of the couches, nodding to Richard and balancing the plate on his knees. Jeremy's eyes track him the whole way. Richard can't tear his eyes away from the two of them.

**

James clears the plates afterwards, can't help himself really. He's standing at the sink tipping left-over crusts into the bin while his tea steeps. From here he has a clear view of Tennant and Clarkson back out on the track. Tennant is leaning against the car, his hips at a jaunty angle, engaged in an animated conversation with Jeremy. Jeremy is standing so close as to be looming were Tennant shorter, his hand unconsciously caressing the hard angles of the car. Their mirrored smiles are blinding. 

Next to James, Richard has both hands on the bench and is staring down at his feet. "Is it my imagination or is David Tennant flirting with Jez?" 

'Oh cock', thinks James. 

* * 

Filming goes swimmingly. The boys work the audience like pros and Jeremy amps it up an order of magnitude, even more gregarious and larger than life. David almost can't see the mind working like clockwork under the showman facade. It's suprisingly appealing, fanning the pleasant burn of attraction he's been stoking all day. He feels good in his glorious brown velvet jacket, the material begging to be touched. His eyes sparkle as he tells Jeremy that he chose it today for him. 

** 

When they've wrapped, everyone mingles, the audience keen to talk to the Top Gear boys and the boys equally keen to bleed the adrenaline out of their system slowly. Social lubrication is passed around. 

David meanders around the studio, wine glass securely in hand, enjoying the natural wind-down as the crowd gradually dissipates. It's predominantly crew now plus the last few hangers-on from the general public, who haven't been shooed away yet, and the alcohol is flowing even more freely. 

He can't help but be drawn to the circle where Clarkson is gesticulating grandly, wine sloshing, still in full entertainer mode. "...And the little bloke, Hammond-esque really, does the most unholy of unholies, breaks the most sacrosanct of man-rules and looks at the bloke crossing swords with him at the gents." David tips his glass in salute to a smiling Jeremy.

"The other bloke, now he's a big strapping man, notices and the short-arse thinks to himself 'oh, now I'm in trouble this bloke's going to think I'm a homosexualist and keen to be first up against the wall when the revolution comes' - but then, salvation of all unusual salvations, he's amazed, he realises the bloke has the letters 'wday' tattoed on his tackle. Exactly the same as he has on his own!" 

"Well." Jeremy spreads his hands wide and does his patented half-smile. Takes another swig of his wine, smiling over the rim at David.

"At the risk of appearing a letchy perv he says 'hey, I see you've got a 'wday' tattoo, I got mine because I lost my virginity on a Wednesday, you too?' The other bloke grins as he zips up and says 'No mon,' his accent broad and Caribbean, 'mine says 'Welcome to Jamaica, have a nice day'." 

The group erupts into uproarious laughter. 

Jeremy, ever the showman, sends them on their way with, "And that ladies and gentlemen, is the long," his gaze is drawn to David yet again, "and the short of it. Thank you." 

Jeremy turns away as the crew rounds up the last of the public. 

"Tennant, I see you're still here." He slings an arm around David's shoulder. 

David bumps hips with Jeremy and laughs. "I thought it was James always talking about cock," he says, voice casual, body thrumming with energy. 

As the audience moves out of earshot he adds, "For someone who's been rather coy all day, you seem to have considered it at some length." David gives his most cheeky grin and hooks a thumb into his belt loop, fingers smoothing down across his hip. 

Jeremy's eyes follow the path of David's fingers intently. "You're hardly the blushing wall flower... and it makes good telly."

"Well, if you must know," Dave leans in, _sotto voce_ for Clarkson's ears, "there'd be room to spell 'Bugatti Veyron', if that peaks your interest?" He raises an eyebrow invitingly and Clarkson's mouth stops moving for a whole second. 

Clarkson sculls the remainder of his drink and loudly announces that he's going for a refill. 

David lifts his glass to his lips nonchalantly, fingers long and pale and just starting to sweat. He drinks the wine down and smiles to himself as he watches Jeremy go. 

** 

'Holy mother of god, I've got to get out of here,' overrides the adrenaline charging through his brain and Jeremy slips past the drinks table and legs it out of the studio before he does something he shouldn't. 

He's not stupid; he knows when to remove himself from temptation. Temptation, damnation and the whole bloody potential embarrassment. He has absolutely no intention of having to deal with the inevitable 'but he looks a bit like Hammond.' He's been sure for years that Richard would punch him if he ever got wind that Jeremy harboured those sort of desires for him, and the irony of David Tennant is not lost on him. He'll just call it a tactical withdrawal - defeat sounds so bourgeois.

He makes it to the safety of the production office, where he feels no longer under the spotlight. Leaning on his desk, fingers pinched to his nose, and just breathes. 

** 

Tennant, all smiles, makes the rounds of the crew before announcing that he's had it for the day and best be off before he turns into a pumpkin - "back to Cardiff tomorrow and all that." He utilises his most casual of saunters as he heads out of the studio, muttering something about finding his hoodie. 

He can hear Clarkson's breathing through the open doorway even as he approaches. The man hasn't even had the sense to close the door on himself, or maybe he's deliberately left it open. Either way, David knows imminent surrender when he senses it. 

"Quiet down here," says Tennant, as Jeremy's head snaps up. "So far away from the crowd..." 

He is leaning in the doorway and Jeremy has to tear his gaze away from the wiry body slung diagonally across the frame. "Shouldn't you still be carousing with the other Thespians, where you're wanted?" Jeremy hopes desperately that sarcasm will have some effect where ignoring has not. 

David steps into the office as Jeremy pushes himself up off the desk, moving towards the doorway. 

"I think I'm wanted here," David says as he kicks the door shut behind him. 

"Don't be ridiculous man," Jeremy blusters. 

"You said on national television that you think I'm handsomer than Richard." David tips his head down, eyes dark and intent as he looks up through his lashes. 

"That's not what I..." 

"You blushed when I offered to undo my shirt button. Don't think I didn't notice," David croons, low and soft, his long fingers deftly unbuttoning the top button of his shirt as he takes a step closer. 

Clarkson swallows, eyes fixed on the path David's fingers are taking. 

"So it's not true about you and Richard, then?" David rolls his 'R' round his mouth. 

"Richard's _married_ ," Jeremy says desperately. 

"Ah, I see." David steps into Jeremy. "I'm not." The words are whispered against Jeremy's lips as David makes contact. They both surge into the kiss, hot and hard, the day's tension overriding all hope of finesse. 

David drives Jeremy up against the edge of the desk, hands tight on his biceps, tongue plunging into his mouth. Jeremy leans back, arse on the desk, one arm back for support although one of David's arms is tight around his back, holding them flush together. At this angle they are evenly matched - Jeremy tipped back, David against him, one leg stretched along the inside of Jeremy's thigh the other, knee up on the desk, holding his hips in place. 

David places both hands in the small of Jeremy's back and roughly cants his hips forward.

"Oh god," pants Jeremy.

Then both of David's hands are in Jeremy's hair and they're kissing without thought to air and Jeremy can hear David's grunts as he thrusts his thickening erection against him. 

Jeremy lets one hand wander up David's denim-clad thigh to cup his arse, enjoying the heat and muscle he can feel underneath his fingers. He slides his other hand up to undo those damn buttons David's been toying with all day, finger tips tracing soft skin and coarse chest hair through the gap in his shirt. Jeremy abandons any illusion that he hasn't thought about this half the day, as David's preened and sparked heat in front of him, and basks in the heat of David's body pressing down and around him. 

David pushes back just enough to drive his hand down into Jeremy's pants. Suddenly the button is undone and Jeremy can feel the zipper split apart and David's palm sliding across the head of his cock as long fingers circle the shaft and pull. Jeremy makes a rather undignified whimper and tears his mouth away from David's before this finishes before it's begun and he embarrasses himself further. 

David's fingers feel cool and nimble and _oh my fucking god_ perfect on Jeremy's sensitive skin as he slides the silken foreskin back and forth, pre-cum slick and gliding deliciously.  
"I want to taste you, feel you writhe," David breathes. Jeremy's tongue is strong against his throat, lips searing against his Adam's apple. He bends his mouth to Jeremy's ear. "Been watching you all day, waiting for the moment you gave in and I could do this, wanted to push you over the bonnet of the car and run my tongue all the way down your back until you were sweating for me..." 

Jeremy's teeth stutter against his throat and his whole body shudders. "Shall we talk about speed and power now Clarkson? My hand on your cock and my tongue in your ear? I'm going to make you fucking come apart in my hands." 

Jeremy gives a choked gasp, "No," but it is already too late. He is coming,and David can feel him pulsing against his hand and spilling over his fingers. 

Jeremy fights to get his breathing under control, a bead of sweat running down from the curls at his temple. David's hips rock gently against him. 

Abruptly, Jeremy's hands are hard on his hips, pushing him backwards. David begins to assure him, "It's o.k, don't worr-" but Jeremy interjects, "Come here, man," and sinks to his knees in the space he's created between them. 

David stares down at him, mouth dry, words gone. 

Jeremy tears his eyes away from David's crotch and lifts them, dark and burning with hunger. "Now." 

David's hands fly downwards, flinging his belt aside, ripping buttons apart and his cock doesn't even feel the cool air before Jeremy's mouth is surrounding it. They both reel as David hits the back of his throat. 

Jeremy spreads his knees for better balance and so help him God it's perversely beautiful, David standing over him as he thrusts. One of David's hands grabs for the desk, the other fists in Jeremy's hair.

Jeremy aches with it, jaw stretched, trembling to stay still. His hands are hooked into David's pockets stopping him from pulling back too far. It's overwhelming in a way that Jeremy would never have thought - pursued and caught and taken, pushed so totally over the edge. All he knows is the blood surging through him, the scent of sex and sweat filling his nostrils and the crescendo of grunts David is making above him. David's hand clutches in his hair, cock-head pushing perfectly against his throat and Jeremy gives in, breathes and closes his eyes and yanks David forward with the next thrust. He swallows on autopilot before he's even registered that David is coming.

When they both can breath like normal people, they lean for a moment against the desk, shoulders and hips together. Jeremy frets about how stupid he's been to his knees and whether they've been discovered. "Do you think anyone heard?"

"Don't care," says David, licking his hand clean. Jeremy finds it obscenely appealing, but can't stop himself from teasing. "Do you have to do that? It's sooo homosexualist." 

David rolls his eyes, all smiling dimples, and walks out. 

** 

David thanks everyone for a fun-filled day on the way back through the studio, and makes sure he speaks to The Stig and James before seeking out Richard. He leans in, close enough he can see Richard's nostrils flare when he picks up the heady scent on his breath.

"Told you he'd bend." David theatrically wipes the corner of his mouth. 

Richard's eyes go wide as saucers and Tennant heads out into the night, smirking as he goes.


	2. The path to world domination never ran easily.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They are all settled into a booth at the hotel bar when Jeremy suddenly bellows, "What a surprise!"_  
> 
>  _Richard's head jerks up to see David Tennant looking around the bar for the source of Jeremy's exclamation. 'I am going to kill him,' thinks Richard._  
>     
> The plot thickens as the boys move to filming in Wales. Hints of Hammond/Tenant here, implied Clarkson/Hammond pining and references to the Clarkson/Tennant of the previous chapter. What's not to love.

David is just raising his hand to push against the revolving door when a gust of wind sweeps in and Jeremy Clarkson steps through. David smiles a greeting.

Jeremy grins. "Fancy meeting you here." 

"Well, I do work here. Well, not here exactly, BBC Wales, not really the London Beeb as such, but I need to come in sometimes." David is rambling. He scruffs his hand through the hair at the nape of his neck.

Jeremy sidesteps into the building, where his bulk won't be blocking people coming through the doorway.

"If you're not in a rush, I was just heading out to grab a proper coffee," David says, eyebrows raising in invitation. 

"Excellent! James will be late anyway, I'm sure." 

They walk in companionable silence the few steps round the corner to the well-frequented cafe; David's hands deep in his pockets as the wind swirls around them, the newspaper tucked under Jeremy's arm fluttering. 

They order their coffees and sit at a table away from the window.

Jeremy very clearly runs his gaze up the length of David, grinning cheekily. "You look well." 

"Oh, behave!" David laughs. "I'll have you know, Miss Billie rang me after the episode aired. Accused me of flirting." His face is a picture of mock shock. 

"Well, you certainly were," Jeremy notes warmly, though his mouth slackens. "You didn't actually, er, say anything to her, did you?"

"I'm not that naff."

Their coffees arrive and David takes a sip, checking the temperature.

"Oh right, discretion the better part of valour and all that." Jeremy taps his finger to the side of his nose before reaching for the sugar.

Lines crease between David's eyebrows. "We're good though?" He skims his spoon through the crema of his coffee before placing it upside down on his tongue, sliding the spoon out of his mouth.

"No complaints on my behalf." 

David nods. "How's Richard? And James? What are you lads up to then?"

Jeremy leans back in his chair, arms sweeping grandly. "We're in the planning stage," he pauses and takes another gulp of his sweet coffee, "of world domination." 

David shakes his head in fond disbelief. "World domination?"

"We're going on the road - Europe, America, Australia..."

"I've always wanted to go to Australia. When's this then?" 

"Later in the year. It's virtually a done deal." 

"Hmmmm." David suddenly looks serious. "It's my, well the Doctor's, job to thwart plans for world domination, you know." 

"Nothing that couldn't be fixed with a tank, I'm sure." Jeremy smiles knowingly. 

"I'm sure the TARDIS could withstand three lads from Dunsfold. And anyway-" 

"How fast does your TARDIS go?" Jeremy interjects, "we could totally take you on." His eyes light up as he sits forward eagerly, face suffused with inspiration. "How about if we-" Jeremy's phone trills abruptly, interrupting him and he turns away to take it, speaking quickly before turning back to David. "Sorry, best be off." He gulps the last of his coffee before rising.

"Let's catch up," David smiles. " _Before_ you go take over the world." 

"Oh, I'll make sure of it." Jeremy strides towards the door and David's certain he can hear him muttering 'how hard can it be?' to himself as he crests the doorway and is off down the road.

 

** 

 

Richard intersects with Jeremy as he strides down the road and steps into line beside him. "Morning Jez." 

"Hamster, just the man I'm looking for. I've had yet another brilliant idea."

"This isn't another of your plans to get me in bike shorts is it? I'm starting to have my suspicions about you, mate." Richard flicks his longer hair back vainly before taking a final drag of his cigarette. 

"Far be it from me to suggest," Jeremy pauses, watching intently as Richard bends to stub his cigarette out, "but this idea is even better than you in bike shorts." Jeremy's eyes drift off to the middle distance for a moment before focusing back on Richard's tanned features.

Richard's eyebrows peak. "Right, let's have it then." He smiles brightly up at Jeremy.

They reach the doorway of the BBC offices. 

"Well, I was talking to David, he asked after James and you by the way-" 

"Who?"

"David. Tennant of course, just this morning we-"

"What?" Richard's smile dims, he pushes hard against the revolving door, sending it spinning as he disappears into its glass depth. Jeremy puts on a burst of speed, narrowly avoiding being smacked in the back of the head as the doors propel him forward and disgorge him into the building.

Richard is heading for the lifts, and Jeremy has to race across the foyer to catch him as he jabs a finger violently at the illuminated lift buttons.

"It's the best idea, you'll love it."

"Well, go on then." Richard turns, satchel swinging in a dangerous arc around his body. "I can't wait to hear all about it."

"Excellent." They both step into the lift. "We were just discussing world domination, David and I-" 

"Oh, sorry Jez," Richard says reaching for his phone. He gestures apologetically with it, "I'll just be a minute," and deftly steps out of the lift through the closing doors.

"But..." Jeremy's brow creases as the doors shut him off. 

Richard leans for a moment against the cold marble wall. He unclenches his fingers from his silent phone and puts it back in his pocket before rubbing his fingers across his forehead, easing the tension there. 

He takes a deep breath and then presses the button for another lift. 

 

** 

 

Jeremy's great idea of 'Top Gear takes on Doctor Who, how hard can it be?,' had fallen on deaf ears. Richard had to admit he had been less than his normal level of enthusiastic and had done absolutely nothing to help. James had remained carefully neutral. It still hadn't stopped Jeremy, with all the subtlety of a rhinoceros, badgering Andy into moving a proposed shoot from Scotland to Wales. And, weeks later, here they are.

'Three days,' Richard tells himself. 'It's only three days in Wales.' He's suffered through Jeremy all over the world, he can manage three days with the man in Wales.

'Can't kill him, can't kiss him,' Richard thinks with a shake of his head. 'Alcohol is clearly the answer.' He grips his beer in his hands tightly, the condensation cool under his fingers.

They are all settled into a booth at the hotel bar when Jeremy suddenly bellows, "What a surprise!" 

Richard's head jerks up to see David Tennant looking around the bar for the source of Jeremy's exclamation. 'I _am_ going to kill him,' thinks Richard.

"Well, Hel _lo_ Doctor." Clarkson launches himself out of their booth, a tsunami of enthusiasm.

"I think I've had enough," Richard announces, rising out of the booth as well.

"Rubbish man," Jeremy says. "You've only had a few and you can't pike out when the good Doctor calls."

Richard glares, unnoticed, at Jeremy then hastily stuffs himself back into the booth, inserting himself between David and Jeremy. He wants to strangle them both and Tennant is impinging on his space, elbows going everywhere and bumping up against him as he tips to each side unwinding his scarf. 

Once settled, David asks James his impression of traffic in Wales, reminding him of the conversation they'd had about the London congestion. 

Jeremy makes for the bar and another round of drinks. 'They better be large ones if I'm going to have to sit through the Clarkson-Tennant show,' Richard thinks. 

Richard downs his beer quickly and they have to wait on another round. Despite Jeremy's taunts about 'Captain Slow', James still takes his time polishing off his beer before heading to the bar for the next round. 

Richard is quick on the uptake again and he can feel the alcohol start to pleasantly warm him when Jeremy ruins it by commenting on how alike Richard and David are, grinning dimples over their beers. Richard's smile slips and James, bless him and his distractions, teases them both about the hordes of adoring fans. 

"Not me, mate," Richard objects, gesturing at David. "He's the one who has people throwing themselves at him." His gaze darts across Jeremy. "Girls, fangirls, I mean, that is." Richard looks down into his glass. "Hey, it's my shout."

Another beer down, and Richard is actually starting to relax. David's a bit of an anorak really, and they both seem to have crazy fans of all ages eager to get their hands on them. David bemoans the fact that the ones he wants are never the ones throwing themselves at him, waggling his eyebrows lewdly. 

They both agree that the older fans are the ones to really watch out for. At that, Tennant teases Jeremy mercilessly about his age, slinging an arm companionably around Richard and saying that "us young lads must stick together." Richard grins, delighted to have a dig at Jeremy.

The evening slips on and Richard finds he's enjoying himself - more so because David is spending time with all of them and it doesn't appear to be the Jeremy-David fest that he'd feared. David brings back another round from the bar and sinks into the cushions next to Richard again, jostling to get comfortable, knee angling against Richard's. Hunched over his beer Richard allows himself to surreptitiously contemplate David, appreciating the view despite his irritation with the man. 

Suddenly Jeremy shushes them all, albeit with rather a lot of extra sibilant sssss's in the shushing, then leans forward conspiratorially. "Now gents, how hard could it be to-" 

"Right." James springs out of the booth and grabs Jeremy by the arm. "You're drunk, and if you're considering 'how hard can it be' we clearly need to get you out of here before mayhem ensues." 

" _May_ hem," Jeremy sniggers, though he allows James to steer him around the edge of the booth. 

"I'll help," Richard offers, eyeing David warily. 

"I think not." James efficiently manhandles Jeremy out of the bar before there can be any other suggestions. 

Richard drains the last of his beer, some of his cheeriness draining away too, and hands David his scratchy woollen scarf. David makes no move to leave the booth. Richard slides along and out. 

"Still determined not to get along with me then?" 

"Probably," Richard answers carefully. 

"And here I was thinking that I'd finally managed to capture a wee bit of your attention." 

'Cheeky sod,' thinks Richard. "What, 'cause you're so handsome, even Jez said so?" Richard adds bitterly. 

"Oh, no. Jeremy was completely wrong," David says quietly. "You're the bloody gorgeous one." 

Richard wheels on him so quickly they almost collide. David's moving to lever himself up out of the booth, a hand each on the upholstery and the table top and Richard leans over him.

"You can fuck right off," Richard hisses, right in his face. 

They lock eyes for the longest of moments, the colour high in Richard's face. David tilts his chin up almost imperceptibly and skitters his thumb in a long swipe along Richard's wrist. Richard whirls away and stalks to the lift. 

Richard stares at himself in the garish lift mirrors, as the floors 'ding' by. Brown eyes and olive skin, not pale with dappled freckles like David's. At least he is fit and has a physique, if it came down to a comparison. Not that he is comparing. 

He flexes his shoulder muscles slightly. God, but he wants to punch David Tennant's stupid flirtatious face. 

He wants to feel the surge of adrenaline and the hardness of impact; feel all that pale skin give under his hands. He wants to hear the sound David would make, a whimper, as the pain smarted across his face, a brilliant flush of glowing skin where Richard had connected. 

He wants to fist a hand in David's hair, push him, bring him to his knees and lay into him.

The desire for it, the adrenaline, is so strong Richard has to stop himself from pressing the button back down to the lobby and going after him.

He wants to hit David so badly he can taste it.


	3. That went well, then.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard can't understand why the can't seem to shake David. David can't understand why Richard is so obtuse.

It's mid-morning and the early autumn sunlight is simply glorious filtering through the low cloud. If James actually liked the countryside, he might concede that it is, in fact, quite beautiful. The camera men are certainly praising the light in this corner of Wales. 

He looks to the heavens and wonders what he's going to do about Jeremy and Richard. Richard who had looked murderous when David had shown up at the hotel bar the previous evening. Jeremy who'd virtually leapt over Richard in his enthusiasm for David. 

James squints ruefully and decides that it's all Jeremy's fault, since honestly, when isn't it Jeremy's fault? It has always mystified him why Richard and Jeremy have never managed to get it together, and adding David's presence into the mix is not going to help, if James is any judge of these things.

He doesn't know what transpired between Richard and David last night; he'd been too busy ushering Clarkson out of harm's way. He can only hope that there's not a make-up artist somewhere cursing Richard while trying to cover a black eye on David Tennant.   
All he knows for sure is that he now has to worry about the likelihood, quite high, of Richard writing himself off as he belts along the open road, putting the car through its paces and time and time again sliding perfectly to a stop as required, gravel fanning out like a work of art in itself. It's not so much that Richard isn't giving the crew exactly what they want, it's just that Richard is in a huge strop, and is pushing the car and himself much harder than he should.

Quite frankly, if James had thought it would work, he'd have locked Jeremy and Richard in a cupboard together to sort it out. He snorts in amusement, rocking back on his heels, as he imagines Jeremy shouting insults through the door, 'we know what these public school pranks say about you, May', right up until the moment Richard kisses or punches him. 

"Seems like you've brought the traffic with you." 

James jerks out of his musings to find David Tennant standing just off his right elbow, watching Richard thrashing the car within an inch of its life. 

"Jeremy's not here," are the first words that stutter out of James' mouth as he colours slightly. "Sorry." 

"Yes, I know. I left him about half an hour down the road, trying to convince Russell that he could do an unobtrusive walk-through in one of our shots." 

"He what?" James' mouth quirks up in amusement, as the idiocy of it rolls over him. 

"Yes, that's what I thought, too." David laughs, all teeth and smile lines and James turns towards him surprised and delighted. All other complications aside, it's nice to have some cheery company. 

"Thought I might have a quick look 'round. Seeing we're only just down the road," David adds. 

"Really? How close are you?" 

"Only a few miles east of here for the next couple of days. I thought you knew." 

"No. Apparently I have yet again underestimated just how devious Jeremy Clarkson can be," James says, rolling his eyes at David. 

"Aye, I'll agree to that." 

"It's all right for you, you don't have to deal with an irritable Richard." 

"Oh, I'm sure I can handle Richard well enough." David smiles enigmatically at James. "Now, where can a chappie rustle up a cup of tea, then?" 

James pours three cups of tea in the catering tent, delegating the biscuits to David. David balances an assortment of biscuits on a saucer, one in his mouth for good measure, and they head back to the roadside. 

Richard has stopped, one of the crew leaning in and speaking to him. James sees it all flutter across his features as he notices David's presence; morphing from 'tea, fantastic' to shocked surprise and right on through to 'you've got to be joking' before Richard turns away, revs the engine and does one more take. He skids the car to a halt, not quite perfectly this time, throwing gravel in a stinging arc across their shins. 

Richards springs from the car, all spiky energy, and practically lunges for the spare cup of tea proffered by James. He ignores David's wave of the biscuits in his direction. He takes a gulp of his tea, swallowing noisily in the silence. 

"What are you doing here?" He angles an eyebrow sharply at Tennant. 

"Having a look around, we're only just down the road you know." David selects a round sugary biscuit from the saucer in his hand. 

"I'm surprised you could spare the time." 

There are crumbs in the corner of David's mouth and he swipes at them with his tongue before answering, "Despite popular opinion, I'm a free agent and I can go anywhere I like." David smirks at Richard, challengingly. 

James splutters suddenly, tea spilling in hot droplets on the roadside. He coughs a couple of more times, wheezing to a halt just as he sees Richard pick out the word _testosterone_ in there. James hacks one more time for good measure, "Sorry about that chaps, bit of an irritant." Richard's eyes narrow though he says nothing. James smiles innocently.

"Well, lovely to talk, but I've got to do my piece to camera, so I'd best get to make-up." Richard pointedly ignores the biscuits David offers and stomps away.

"I think that went well," David says, grinning. James shakes his head, staring after Richard before bringing his attention back to David who hands him the saucer of biscuits and squares his shoulders. "Right, I might just have a word with him," David announces before he too walks away.

"I'd leave it, if I were you." 

"But he's such a charming wee man." David grins enormously at James and keeps walking. 

"Don't blame me if you have to cover up a black eye then," James calls after him in warning. 

David waves acknowledgement at James, still grinning. James sighs heavily to himself, "Oh cock." 

** 

David can hear Richard sniping at the make-up girl. "...But what about the wrinkles? God, look at the bags under my eyes," as he approaches the tent. He rounds the corner to see Richard slumped in a chair, the tea cup hanging loosely in his hand, frown lines across his face as the woman fusses about him. 

She's crooning to him, reassuring him he looks fine, despite Richard's objections. David has to agree, from where he is standing, hand paused on the tent-flap, Richard is more than fine. Tired and irritated and flawed but beautiful none the less. David can admit to himself that he's always thought so. Shame they'd got off to such a bad start when he'd filmed his Top Gear slot and he got distracted by Jeremy - not what David had intended at all. 

"Richard." David announces his presence as he ducks through the flap into the tent, flinging himself down into one of the chairs. 

"Oh for God's sake, can't a man have a moment's peace!" Richard exclaims, exasperated. 

"Apparently not." David smiles, unrepentant.

"Look," Richard sighs, eyes sliding to David, "can't you just let it be, let _me_ be?" 

David tips out of his chair and comes to stand next to the make-up girl. She leans down to Richard holding his chin firmly as she tips him first one way and then the other. Richard slants his eyes down to look at the matte blue landscape of denim above her knee rather than meet David's gaze. "You'll do," the girl murmurs and releases his chin to step back, appraising his hair. 

She tweaks his hair, one, two times with her fingers, rubbing the spiky strands together before stepping away. Richard relaxes slightly now her scrutiny has ceased. She slips out of the tent and Richard calls "Thank you," after her. 

Richard sighs again and shuts his eyes, fingers taut against the chair arms. "Shouldn't you be wherever Jeremy is?" 

David rolls his eyes, a gesture lost as Richard seems determined not to look at him. "I'd rather be here," David persists. 

Richard's lids flicker open and David quite blatantly checks him out before Richard tears his eyes away to assess himself in the mirror. 

Self-consciously, Richard reaches his fingers up to feel the texture of his hair, trying to make it absolutely perfect. David bats his hand away. "Stop your fretting." Slowly and deliberately David slides his fingers through a spiky strand, textured and soft at the same time - Richard's hair precisely dishevelled. David lets out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.

"Don't!" Richard wraps one hand tightly around David's wrist. "Don't touch me." 

Richard's arm is shaking, his fingers biting into David's wrist. The feeling blazes along David's nerves, from fingers twined into Richard's hair, through the burn around his wrist to the pulse thudding in his heart. 

"Are you sure you don't want me to touch you?" David slides his gaze down, across Richard's creased brow, luminous brown eyes, flared nostrils breathing quickly. He stalls at Richard's lips, flicks briefly up to his eyes before settling on his lips again. 

"Fuck you." David sees the words form on Richard's lips, the curl-then-purse of each syllable as Richard grates it out. 

"Yes," David breathes, his eyes smoldering under heavy lids, and then their lips collide. 

Richard yanks him forward, hand fisted in his shirt, hot and hard and snarling as he thrusts his tongue into David's mouth. Off balance, David's hand tightens in Richard's hair. Richard growls and, in response, shoves a hand into David's hair, tilting his head _just so_ and holding him still. David whimpers and gives in, revelling as Richard simultaneously loses and takes control. 

There's a crashing sound followed by, "Oh bollocks, sorry," and they break apart abruptly to see James, half in the tent, his tea cup in pieces on the ground. Their breathing is loud. 

James is stooping to pick up the cup, head studiously down and not looking at either of them. "Heard a scuffle, was actually coming to save you." James glances briefly at David. "Um, obviously..." 

"I don't need saving," David finishes for him, straightening up and smoothing his rucked shirt. 

James looks apologetically at Richard. "They're ready for you," he says, jerking his thumb in the direction of the roadway. 

"I best be off anyhoo, no rest for the wicked, as they say." David gives a wink and ducks past James and out of the tent.

**

The evening finds them at the local around the corner from the hotel and Richard is wiping the floor with his colleagues via the pool table. James is lucky to get a shot in and only just manages to avoid having to do the traditional lap sans pants. "Well, that's the sort of poor performance we've come to expect from you, Slow," Jeremy mouths off. 

"Step right up, Jez." Richard sweeps his arm broadly in invitation, "I'll have you doing the pants-down shuffle in no time."

"Richard, all you have to do is ask," Jeremy drawls as he slides his hands suggestively down the pool cue. 

"Gentlemen, either get a room or get on with it," James interjects. 

Jeremy snarks, "Well, hardly likely, is it?"

Richard colours slightly. 'Rub it in,' he thinks as he racks up the balls.

Jeremy is having slightly more luck than James, but only because he's been goading Richard unrelentingly. Despite the fact that he should be used to it, the prickle of annoyance is just enough to put Richard off his game. If anything, Richard's frustration with himself is affecting his game more than Jeremy's jibes. A couple of years ago, they'd have bounced right off but nowadays, things get under his skin more easily. 

'Can't change the past', Richard thinks to himself, sighing inwardly. 

Richard is so focused on the shots that he's not really paying attention; he barely registers when James heads off to the bar, only notes the vague ebb and flow of conversation. He's better than Jeremy; he knows it and he's going to prove it. 

Jeremy plays a decent game, but it's more about showmanship, always going for the flashy shot, rather than the ones guaranteed to get him a result. At an impasse, Jeremy resorts to power. 'Doesn't he always,' Richard thinks, snorting as he watches the balls ricochet across the table in a firework of colour. Jeremy gloats at Richard over his cue as two balls drop into the pockets. Despite his professed mastery of the game, Jeremy misses his next shot and Richard can't help having a go at him. "Unlike you to miss a straight shot like that, it must be your age getting to you." 

Jeremy snipes back, "Well, you're always so good with the straight shots." 

Richard is lining up his next shot carefully when he glances up. Two pool tables away, Richard sees James measuring up a shot, crouched, eyes level with the table as he assesses the exact angle and trajectory necessary. Standing across from him, one hand on his hip, the other curled around a beer, is David Tennant. Richard's eyebrows shoot upwards. 

He finds himself smiling unexpectedly - the feel of David's wrist, held fast in his hand, as Richard had wrenched him down - rushes insistently to mind. He flushes hotly at the memory of the wet heat of David's mouth, as Richard's hands had fisted in his hair. "Fuck you," he'd said, and David had breathed acquiescence against his mouth. The look of shock on James' face in the tent doorway. 

It's then that he realises that every time he's seen David lately he's been in James' company. The corners of his mouth drift downwards as his smile fades. 

"Get on with it man," Jeremy harasses, breaking Richard from his thoughts.

Richard expertly sinks two more balls before missing the next. He feels sick to the back teeth that his own self-doubt might have cost him the game. He's angry at himself and David's confusing distraction and the very real chance that Jeremy might beat him. His knuckles whiten around the cue as Jeremy assesses the last two balls. 

Anything less than winning is not an acceptable result so Richard does anything and everything he can to distract Clarkson - he whines, he fidgets with his hair, he chalks his queue a half-dozen times, he leans across Jeremy to check the angle of the shot Jeremy is lining up, he threatens to help James win the next challenge. Jeremy, damn him, pots the next ball. 

This is it. One ball left. It's do or die. Richard starts tipping the balls out of the pockets back onto the table.

"Hammond, if you insist on doing that, you'll be wearing my pool cue," Jeremy threatens. Richard just grins cheekily at him. 

Jeremy stretches and cracks his back. "Prepare to lose." 

Richard swallows his pride, it is about winning after all, and announces, "David's here." Jeremy twitches and Richard adds, "Nice arse." 

Jeremy's face spins towards Richard and the ball goes skittering off in the opposite direction. 

"What?" Jeremy says, face slack with surprise. "Oh, sod it, Hammond, you pillock." 

"All's fair." Richard smiles angelically. 

"Like you'd notice," Jeremy mutters darkly. 

"Not everyone's oblivious," Richard mutters in return. "Oh, and Jez," Richard crows as he polishes off the final ball, "Loser!" He forms an 'L' with thumb and forefinger on his forehead and capers in front of Jeremy. 

Jeremy looks completely affronted. 

"I, Jeremy Clarkson, did not lose. You cheated." Jeremy strides towards the other table, "Oh, who will save me from the evil clutches of Richard Hammond? In the face of defeat, he chose the path of cheating. That way lies a slippery slope to certain doom," he intones dramatically. 

James gives David a long-suffering look. "What's he done this time?" he asks Jeremy. 

Richard joins them, explaining, "Hey, just because Jez has the focus of a gnat..." 

"He made lascivious comments," Jeremy pauses for effect, "about the good Mr Tennant. It's all terribly homosexualist, if you ask me." 

"Jeremy!" Richard cries warningly. 

"I mean really, Rich," Jeremy rampages on, "If you think he's got such a great arse, why don't you lay him out here on the pool table and give him a damned good seeing to?" 

The smile Jeremy bestows on Richard is insufferably triumphant.

"Jeremy, you absolute fucker," Richard splutters, staring at him with big horrified eyes. James has had to put his beer down, he's laughing so hard. 

"Fine with me," David comments, completely deadpan. Richard turns to him, eyes narrowing as David's mobile mouth shifts to a cocky grin, his eyes glittering with mischief. 

"No," Richard can hear his voice becoming shriller with outrage, "It was only a distraction - the perfect distraction." David's eyebrow quirks. 

"Richard, you protest too much." Jeremy's tone is indulgent. He places an arm around Richard's shoulders and manoeuvres him to the best view of David leaning over the pool table. 

"But I didn't _mean_ it. I don't care what David's arse looks like," Richard objects, despite the fact that he is quite obviously staring, even as David looks back over his shoulder and smirks. 

"Of course you don't, Richard," Jeremy replies with exaggerated disbelief.

"I will murder you later, Clarkson." Richard stabs a finger into his chest. "Now I have to piss." And with that, Richard makes an undignified retreat to the gents. 

Behind him, Richard hears Jeremy clap his hands together and declare, "Right, well that's sorted, I'm the real winner."

He glances back to see Jeremy and James are doubled over in laughter. David is bent over the table, arm stretched along his pool cue. His shirt has ridden up, exposing a pale line of skin over his hip and Richard remembers that fleeting moment when he'd bunched that shirt between his fingers and kissed him.

** 

When David elbows through the doors to the gents ten minutes later, beer pushing insistently against his bladder, he heads straight for the urinals. The sound of his zip is loud in the tiled room. 

He catches movement out of the corner of his eye, head turning in time to see Richard's fingers slide out of his hair as he straightens up and away from the mirrors. 

"What are you doing in here?" Richard asks. 

"Thought I'd try my luck for a sordid shag in a grimy toilet. What does it look like?" 

"Oh, right," Richard blushes. "Sorry." 

David thinks it makes him look like a naughty schoolboy. "Are you checking out my arse? Again?" he quips, wiggling his hips slightly and looking over his shoulder mischievously at Richard. 

"What? NO!" Richard denies it furiously, but if he wasn't before he certainly is now. David zips up and turns towards Richard and the basins. He reaches past Richard to wash his hands, angling his neck to present a long, pale patch of skin just inches from Richard's mouth. He can feel Richard's breath ghosting across his skin. 

He turns his head until their eyes meet - David's challenging, Richard's visibly darkening as they both stare openly. The corner of David's mouth slides up into a hungry smile. "You're looking now." His voice is quiet and low in the small space between them. 

Richard blinks, focuses, blinks again. 

"There you go, with the bloody flirting again." Richard runs his hands through his pedantically preened hair. "Are you trying for the trifecta or something?" 

"What?" David's mouth drops open in amazement. He fumbles the tap closed and Richard hammers on.

"Well, there was Jez," he declares, raising a stilling hand before David interrupts, "which you were soooo subtle about." Richard takes two steps away from David. "Then the flirting with me - good job by the way, you've really done a number on me." 

Richard rounds and paces the two steps back to David. "And now, every time I look up you seem to be glued to James' side." His eyes flick up to David's briefly, hand ruffling unconsciously through his hair again. "Christ, is everyone better than me?" he says plaintively. Richard looks at himself in the mirror, mortified by the idea.

"Richard?" 

"Oh, forget it." Richard scrubs his fingers irritably across his forehead and stomps towards the door. "Oh, and by the way, James is Absolutely Straight, so I wouldn't bother if I were you." 

He flings the door open and disappears through it. 

David looks at his own gobsmacked expression in the mirror, drops of water still dripping off his hands. He palms them dry on his jeans, takes a steadying breath and makes for the door.


	4. Full Throttle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's pretty simple - Jeremy has a revelation, and David and Richard get down to it...

The sound of the bathroom door slamming is loud and Jeremy looks up in time to see Hammond fleeing the bathroom.

"Look, here's trouble," Jeremy says, elbowing James.

James' brow crinkles in concern as he watches Richard make a bee-line for the bar. 

David comes barrelling out after him, a look of determination on his face. 

Jeremy looks at the two of them; David making short sharp hand gestures and Richard, chin jutting forward, spitting replies.

"Oh, that's not going well," Jeremy notes.

Richard sags onto a barstool as David berates him, the fury on his face evident from across the room. James is watching intently, over the foam of his beer.

Jeremy shifts to get up. "I thought I might go save him before Richard takes a swing," he begins. 

James places a staying hand on Jeremy's forearm, "Believe me, David doesn't need saving." 

They watch as David slides onto the stool next to Richard, his knees framing Richard’s as they talk. 

Suddenly Jeremy's arm tenses and he gasps, "Did you see that? David's practically playing footsies with him!" 

James turns from the altercation at the bar to raise an eyebrow at Jeremy, "And?" 

"You don't think he's trying it on do you? Richard'll throttle him." Jeremy snorts, his expression still dark. 

The look of sheer incredulity on James' face brings Jeremy up short. "Well, it's not as though Hammond bats for that team, is it?" 

James splutters, "Pull the other one!" 

"Don't be ridiculous May."

James' face suddenly lights up, he throws back his head and laughs as it all suddenly makes sense to him, "You are talking about Richard, shiny shirt, cowboy boots, owns a sunbed, perfect hair, Hammond?" 

Jeremy's face swings back to Richard and David as David leans forward, hand on Richard's thigh. Jeremy watches them with intense concentration and his mouth slowly drops open. He looks questioningly at James.

James laughs softly, "Oh Jeremy, you utter, obtuse pillock." 

David leans further, hand sliding to the apex of Richard's thigh before he whispers something against Richard's ear. David stands and walks away. Richard's eyes follow him, hungrily, for a long moment before he turns to the barman.

Jeremy's eyes go wide before he looks down at the table and says, in the quietest of voices, "I think I might have been a bit oblivious." 

James claps him on the back and turns back to his beer, "And you call _me_ 'Slow'."

 

** 

 

Richard makes for the bar, thinking that maybe four hundred whiskies might begin to take the sting off the humiliation and stupidity and vulnerability he's feeling right now. He knows he's probably being a 'ridiculous. overreacting pillock' as James so subtly puts it, but he's sick of the mixed messages he's getting. One minute David seems to be flirting with him, the next he's chasing Jeremy and always in James' company and what's a man to think? 

He hears the bathroom door slam a second time and wonders whether David just thinks he's a complete fuck-up.

David strides up to him, "Tell me you are not seriously that stupid?" he asks. 

"Well, you tell me?" Richard stares him down. 

"Do you honestly think that I'm here playing pool, that I came to the site today, that I've bloody chased your temper twice today, because I'm wooing James and Jeremy?" He's furious, Richard can see it in his eyes, the sharp hand gestures punctuating every sentence, the aggressive stance. 

Richard sags against the barstool, he's too tired for this and the more David speaks the more ridiculous he feels.

He looks down at the floor in defeat, a hand flaps loosely as he explains, "Well, the first thing you ever asked was whether Jeremy was available."

Richard squeezes his eyes shut and thinks back to that moment when he'd thought he might have a chance. It was out on the track, that day filming David's Top Gear spot, but then David had asked about Jeremy and Richard remembers feeling the unwelcome sting even then, David was not interested, would never be interested in him. 

David slides onto the stool next to Richard's, his long legs warm against him. 

"Richard, listen to me."

Richard takes a deep breath, blowing it out between pursed lips, before looking back to David.

David smiles softly as Richard looks up, placing a hand on the denim of his jeans.

"I asked about the rumours about _you_ and Jeremy." He leans forward to catch and hold Richard's gaze, "I was asking about you." 

Surprise and understanding bloom in Richard's eyes, even as he blushes, "Me?" 

David chuckles, anger dispelled and Richard beams back at him.

"Maybe I should start over," he leans further, sliding his hand up the firm expanse of thigh to whisper against Richard's ear, "Tell me Richard, do you bend my way?" 

David slips out of his chair and walks away, turning to smirk invitation at Richard, before continuing back to the pool tables.

** 

By the time Richard returns from the bar, alcohol balanced expertly between splayed fingers, his whole demeanour has completely transformed. He feels loosely confident, easy in his own skin, happy. 

David turns from where he's racking up the balls. "Who's up for a round then?" he asks, merriment dancing across his face.

Jez snorts beer out his nose and James thumps him on the back unhelpfully. 

James declines and Jeremy says he's happy to watch.

"Right!" Richard raps his cue smartly against the pool table, "I'll be having you then." He grins like the cheeky fucker he knows he's being.

David throws back his head and laughs, genuine and throaty. "You can try," he challenges.

David stretches, full length across the pool table, elegant fingers pressing against the soft green cloth, pulls back the cue until it nudges against the crook of his hip. Slowly raises his eyes until he's holding Richard's gaze, full of heat and fire. His cue shoots forward and the crack as he breaks the balls, sounds like a starter pistol.

They play, laughing and joking, trading turns back and forth with the flow of the game. Circling the table, as each takes his shot the balls slowly diminish. It's a game of one-upmanship and play, and the intensity ratchets up with each shot.

James watches the changing dynamics while Jeremy heckles from the sidelines. David makes a disastrous shot after Richard skims his thumb through the cold condensation clinging to his pint glass before swiping it along the stripe of skin exposed as David's shirt rides up. 

"Like that is it?" David asks, giving him an appraising stare. He barely takes a hand off Hammond from that moment onwards.

They circle the pool table, discussing the parry and thrust of the game, ball skills, the visceral pleasure of lining up and sinking in. Richard thinks darkly that maybe Jeremy was right when he'd goaded him about laying David out on the pool table and giving him a damn good seeing to, he wants to so badly he can taste it. His eyes glaze over just thinking about it and he misses the simplest shot.

David grazes past him seeming to consider the best angle, Richard knows he could take his shot from anywhere, but he chooses directly opposite Richard as he leans over, adjusting the trajectory until he's looking right up the cue at Richard. He glances up quickly to check he’s got Richard’s attention: one side of his mouth curling up as he snakes out his tongue and laps two inches up the cue before taking his shot. Richard's lips part with a startled exhale. David smiles then, naughty as a school boy, before reaching down and adjusting himself in his jeans as he straightens up, winking devlishly before stepping out of Richard’s direct line of sight.

The moment's broken by the kerfuffle of James dragging Jeremy out of his seat, muttering something about 'not wanting to know.' 

James announces, quite forcefully, that it's time they called it a night and someone has to escort the inebriated Clarkson back to the hotel. Jeremy struggles as James pulls him along by the coat-sleeve towards the door. Richard can hear Jeremy slurring animatedly and James' sing-song "not listening," dying away in the distance. 

Richard prepares to take his next shot and has to remind himself that he's in a public place. The urge to snug up against David's hips as he aligns his shot is strong and he limits himself to bending diagonally across the table in front of him. He glances to the side to see David's knuckles whiten as they grip his pool cue.

"Okay there?" Richard asks. 

David breathes a slow breath out through his nose before stepping away. "I'm good," he quips.

"I'm better than good," Richard counters. He smirks, making his shot and lining up for another.

"You know what I think?," David queries, crouching down level.

Richard turns his head and raises one eyebrow. 

David pitches his voice low between the two of them, "I think you'd make the most beautiful cocksucker I've ever seen."

Richard drops his cue on the table. "We're out of here."

He wrenches David to his feet and propels him towards the door, grabbing his jacket on the way out.

**

Richard's taken one step into the cool hallway of David's apartment before he's pushed back, body used to close the door with a solid thump as heat and muscle and David's hunger press against him. His head clunks against the wood and David's tongue is sliding into his mouth, sinuous and sharp, it drives a groan out of him even as Richard is sucking him further in. Their tongues slide, slick with saliva against each other, gasping for air, the sharp prickle of stubble igniting nerves.

David rips his jacket off, stripping it down his arms and flinging it to the floor behind him. Richard holds his mouth to him, fingers clutched in the thickness of his hair, he can't, he won't let go of his mouth. David's hands yank Richard's shirt upwards, the cool air hitting his skin and he shies away from the coldness of the door against his back. David's hands slide round his hips to the small of his back and cant him forward, arching his back and pressing them more fully together. From mid-thigh to shoulder-blades Richard is bowed forward and David moulds against him, rubbing himself to hardness against Richard's hip. It's fantastic and Richard wants more. He slides a hand down the plane of David's cheekbone, tracking across jaw, rubbing a thumb across his collarbone and David's breath hitches a little. The urge to taste that spot is powerful and he slips loose of David's mouth, teeth pressing under his jaw to force his head up and he slides his tongue down his neck. 

David's fingers curl against his back and Richard can feel his fingernails draw scratches across the skin there, starting a bright throb of warmth tingling across his hips, reverberating all the way to his cock straining against his jeans. Richard lathes his tongue down the long column of David's throat, stubble rasping against his lips until he can get his teeth around David's collar bone. His mouth watering, he bites with careful pressure until he feels David's hands scrabble and clench against his back again.

"Christ, Richard!" David grates roughly. They're the first words said between them since leaving the pub. 

Richard pulls back to admire the row of teeth marks temporarily indented red against David's pale skin, he knows it will be aching but the steady pressure won't have marked him, god but he'd like to.

"Where's the bedroom?" Richard growls. 

"Who cares." David slides down Richard's body to land on his knees between his feet. "Shirt off," he orders Richard as his hands make quick work, wrenching open his jeans and yanking them downwards. He places a knee on the bunched up material, limiting Richard's movement. 

David barks out a surprised laugh, "oh my god!" and Richard shoots him an alarmed look, arms frozen over his head, shirt half-off. 

Seeing Richard's look David quickly clarifies, "You're wearing my underwear." 

Richard's face is a picture of confusion.

"No, I mean, the black Calvins, we're wearing the same." 

"You're joking?" Richard says, wriggling out of his shirt. 

David looks up at him, cheek rubbing wickedly against his cotton-covered erection, eyes twinkling.

"Let's see if we can fix that little fashion faux pas, shall we?" 

He hooks his fingers into the waist band of Richard's briefs, guides them over his erection and lets them fall to the puddle of clothing at Richard's feet. 

"At least I have excellent taste." Richard notes smugly. 

"Taste." David rounds the word, tongue prominent as he enunciates cheekily at Richard. He licks his lips slowly, until they're slick and glistening wetly. An answering drop of moisture beads on Richard's taut cockhead. Their eyes meet and hold. 

"Suck my cock," Richard husks. 

The near-pressure as David's mouth barely skims around him is torture and Richard's hands fist desperately in David's hair urging him closer. David resists the pressure with a hint of sharp teeth against the soft skin of Richard's erection and although Richard can't see his eyes, the arch of his eyebrow is clear. Richard forces himself to loosen the hold on his hair, carding his fingers restlessly and staring desperately at the ceiling. 

"Better," David mumbles around him. His tongue undulates along Richard's shaft, a broad burning trail as David takes him in; he's slow and steady against the incendiary lust gripping Richard. When David hollows his cheeks and sucks as he pulls off, Richard feels like all his blood is rushing to the head of his cock, throbbing madly.

"Oh my God," Richard yelps, hips straining forward after that delicious friction. 

David pushes his hips back as he slides down the length again, hands holding him upright as Richard suddenly lists sideways. Richard's palms slam flat against the door for balance and he mewls something unintelligible into the dark air of the hallway. David curls his hands around Richard's hips, fingernails scrabbling roughly against the skin there, bright trails across earlier scratches and Richard is moaning long drawn-out syllables above him,"Oh god, oh god, oh god." 

Every time Richard pushes against the back of his throat David grunts, a deep, gutteral sound. His eyes are closed and Richard shivers as David smooths a hand down his leg, to press the heel of his hand against his own erection.

David tips back onto his heels, slides off Richard with a lingering sweep of his tongue before rising and plunging that tongue deep into Richard's open mouth. Whatever Richard was saying is strangled, mid-word as David thrusts his whole body against him, tongue inside his mouth, crawling into his very skin to get closer. He can barely breath, doesn't care to, sucks his own flavour off David's tongue, gasping as long fingers wrap around his deserted erection to stroke savagely. 

Richard wrenches David back, one hand gripping his hip firmly the other in his hair, tipping his head until their eyes meet. "Bedroom." 

David surges forward again and Richard holds him solidly, muscles flexing with the effort. They glare at each other challengingly. 

"Bedroom. NOW," Richard commands. 

Abruptly David turns and heads down his hall and further into the flat, flinging a trail of clothes behind him in his wake. Richard toes off his shoes and steps out of his bunched pants before following, hopping from one foot to the other as he strips off his socks on the way. 

A dim light shines through the open doorway and Richard is treated to the welcoming sight of David Tennant's arse, bent over the bedside table as he thumbs on the lamp next to the bed. He's right, they do have the same underwear and Richard thinks he's sure that it never feels this soft when he's wearing it -- it feels impossibly smooth, the warm cotton sliding under his fingers as he comes up behind David, leaning into the neat pertness of his bottom and running his hands down across his hips, heels of his hands digging into the juncture of his thighs pressing tighter against him.

David straightens up and Richard lets his hands wander. David's contoured and warm, muscle firm under his skin and he doesn't feel as skinny as he looks with his clothes on. He looks lanky, but underneath it all, stripped and bare and breathing heavily, he's solid flesh. Richard pillow his cheek against David's shoulder-blade, listening to the thrumming of his pulse and the whoosh of his breathing as his hands explore. He scuffs one hand through the coarse smattering of hair across his chest, rubbing one nipple to hardness as the other hand skims up to run across his collarbone, that sensitive spot that had made David gasp earlier.

David grasps the hand exploring his chest and draws it down his body, fingers interlaced. David's fingers are cool as he interlocks them with Richard's before laying his palm flat over the throbbing heat of his erection. Richard presses against the head, feeling moisture seeping through the cotton of his briefs and rubs his fingers back and forth lightly across his balls. David makes a gutteral "uh" sound, grinding himself into Richard's hand and back against his erection as his head tips back with pleasure. 

He releases Richard's hand and reaches back around his hip to pull Richard more forcefully against him. The blunt hardness of Richard's erection is pressed hard against his cheeks. Richard holds him tight, arm wrapped across his chest to toy with the delicate skin of his neck, the other sneaking the his briefs over the ridge of his erection and down. Richard mouths against his back, nipping his way along his shoulder-blade to bite playfully at the nape of his neck, he soothes the sting away with swirling patterns etched by his tongue.

David steps out of his briefs, kicking them in the direction of his laundry basket, before hipping Richard onto the bed with a solid bounce. 

They come together on the bed. Richard up on his knees in a flash as David bears down on him, refusing to let him get the upper hand in this encounter.

Richard touches him all over, fingers exploring every contoured inch of David's body, an adventure of textures; rough chest hair, goosebumped skin across his abdomen, beautifully soft hairs at the nape of his neck, a thick thatch of brown surrounding his cock. David's cock is purple-red and swollen fit to burst, pre-cum squeezing out the tip with each throb of his pulse. 

David runs his fingernails over the scratches he's left across the small of Richard's back. He scoots back against the headboard, propped up on a pillow and pulls Richard with him, guiding his elbow across his body and turning him. Richard can feel the scratches David made earlier, flaring across his hips from spine to hip on either side, as David trails his fingers over them. 

David runs a calming hand along Richard's body from arse to shoulders before rising to his knees behind him and pulling Richard back against him, mirroring Richard's earlier hold on him.

Richard's breath hitches a desperate note as David feeds on his neck, firm kisses and swirling tongue sweeping thoughts in their wake. His hand presses hard down Richard's body and it feels to Richard like he's pushing all his blood and adrenaline before him, flooding his cock with a sublime ache. David's hand wraps around him and the promise of release of the aching tension draws a long moan from Richard's mouth. His head thunks back weakly onto David's shoulder and his lips part breathlessly.

Richard is able to reach back and wend his fingers once again through the thickness of David's hair, holding his mouth to him as he suckles the soft skin along his shoulder. He pushes his arse back, grinding into David's hips, his slippery erection rubbing between them, he can feel the wiry rasp of the thick hair at the base of David's cock tickling against the sensitive skin of his buttocks. 

David's fingers are sheathed around his cock, smooth and steady. He's masturbating Richard in sure strokes, beautifully pleasurable. It's a steady, constant thrumming through Richard, taking the edge off but not pushing him towards orgasm. David shuffles down to a sitting position, hand still diligently working Richard as his mouth grazes further down his back, categorising each vertebrae and pushing him down onto his hands as he moves lower. David's hand is still moving unendingly across his cock, back and forth, back and forth, and he nudges Richard forward a little more with his nose until he bends low. 

Richard braces himself on the bed, on knees and elbows. David can see the bright scratches across the small of his back now and enjoy the swell of his butt.

David shifts his grip, through Richard's legs until he's wrapped his fingers around his cock from behind. At this angle he can press the heel of his hand against his balls, he begins lightly. Richard is swaying, the tiniest of rocking back against him. 

Blowing gently across the scratches marking the small of Richard’s back makes him shiver, the pleasure snaking up his spine. David slows the pace of his hand, long slow strokes of his fingers. Up Richard's shaft. Down again. He reaches out with the tip of his tongue to rake along one scratch. Richard hisses, back arching slightly in response. David strokes, steadily up his erection again, smearing his thumb in Richard's wetness. He runs his tongue up another scratch as he slides his palm down Richard's erection. The rhythm is slow, deceptive.

He sweeps his hand and tongue up again. The broad, strong sensations rushes over Richard; a moan breaks as he peaks the tip of his erection, coating David's thumb again. He slides back down, tongue never leaving Richard's back this time. He slides his slippery thumb back across the thin skin between Richard's cheeks, ghosting over his hole.

"Oh god." Richard breathes.

Up, up, up, David slides his hand again, hypnotically rhythmic. Richard's chanting "oh, oh, oh," the whole time and David runs his thumb once more around his swollen head before pulling down, the rush of blood pushing along Richard's cock, flush infusing his whole body.

Richard wrenches his fingers into the bedclothes against the bright hot surge of sensation overrunning him. So slow, so simple, the blinding pleasure catching him off guard and he tenses, foot tipping up off the bed, as it ripples through him. He takes a shuddering inhale and relaxes on the exhale. As he relaxes David slips his thumb past the loosening ring of muscle and slides into him.

Richard stutter jerks, a strangled cry escaping his lips. David holds him firmly, mouth pressed against the swell of his arse. He places a steadying hand against Richard's hip as he pulls outwards and presses inwards again, raising his head to let a strand of saliva fall from his mouth to his thumb, easing the slide. Richard's hips flex minutely. David delves into him, pressing deeper.

Richard closes his eyes and presses his cheek into the freshness of the duvet. The feeling is exquisite, David's elegant fingers sliding against the tight ring of muscle, it's slippery cool and burning him up at the same time. His hips are moving of their own volition, motion in counterpoint as David dances in and out of him. He's not sure when this happened, how it suddenly became acceptable that he should be on his knees, head on the bedclothes being so expertly finger fucked that he can barely speak, except for the litany of vowel sounds pouring from his lip like a porno soundtrack. 

It's obscene. Obscene that he should be laid out like this, laid open as David spits, then sinks another slippery finger into him and all he can think of to say in response is "oh god yes."

Pressing his arse back and hips up Richard offers his body to every searing sensation that David has to offer; the bruising grip on his hip, the slide of his fingers, oh god, the mind-numbing feeling of his fingers plunging into him, harder now. Richard is on his knees gladly worshipping. 

David releases Richard's hip and wrenches him upright. Richard gasps as David's stubble tracks a searing trail up his back until he's nuzzling, roughly, at the hair at the nape of his neck. David palms himself a couple of times before shifting up further to rub his erection along the inside of Richard's thighs. They rock together, an intimate dance of sensation and mindless lust swaying them in tandem.

David runs his tongue along Richard's earlobe, "Wanna shag like bunnies?" he asks.

Richard breaks the embrace, shuffling forward on his knees before turning and regarding David.

"Lube would be good," he kisses him, lightly, "and condoms?"

David turns on his hip to pull open the draw of his bedside table, chucking a tube of lube in Richard's direction and grabbing a condom. He tears open the foil packet with his teeth, watching as Richard squirts an amount of lube into his hand before it disappears behind him. David slides the condom carefully down his hard-on, he's joined by Richard's hands smoothing lube onto him. His hands are small and deft and he quickly slicks David up. 

Then Richard is crawling across him, nose nudged into his cheek as he kisses him thoroughly, pushing him onto his back with firm pressure, hands on his chest as he rides him down to the mattress. Richard's hands are everywhere as they kiss, exploring the feel of David's body, that sensitive spot on his collar bone and searching for more.

David reaches to pull Richard's knees up further, adjusting the angle at which Richard is straddling him and Richard clamps down tightly with his thighs, unmoving against his hips and drops his body into him. Their erections are caught between them, contrasting David's cool with lube and Richard's scorching. Richard's touching him all over, finger tips trailing over his cheeks to his temples and down again as their mouths move together, tongues mingling.

He maps David by touch, the cartography of his body varied. At his chest are wiry hairs, hiding small delicate nipples and as Richard laves them with his tongue, flick-flicking as they harden, David speaks in grunts. He arches, speechless when Richard blows across them, the soft current of air against his skin in time with Richard's breathing. 

David's hands have hooked under this buttocks and he's driving them together harder, pushing them to mindless frenzy, grinding their erections against each other, each thrust richocheting a burst of pleasure between them. Richard can feel the pointed dig of manicured nails biting into his flesh as David moves them.

Richard sits up, tipping his hips to let David slip between their bodies so his erection is sliding between his cheeks. David follows him up, chasing his mouth and the slide of hot wet kisses. Richard rocks his hips against him in tiny slow motions, until the head of David's cock settles against his lube-slick arsehole. He pushes against him slowly, eyes fluttering closed reverently as the head of David's cock breaches the tight ring of muscle to slide into him. David's fingers flex at his hips, though he is otherwise entirely still.

Richard's ragged breath morphs into a low groan as he impales himself on David. It's brilliant, bright burning through him from the single point where he's sliding down David's cock and David is pressing up into him.

"Jeezus, Richard," erupts from David's mouth and he begins to move. The swell of his hips taking Richard along as he rocks into him, the movement as inevitable as the tide in its demanding pull, in and out, in and out.

David peppers frantic kisses along Richard's face, jaw, moving down his neck as they thrust together. Richard tipping his head back and riding David with abandon as David moves down the velvet soft skin of his chest to his nipples. He worries Richard's nipples with his teeth and Richard shudders, hips staccato for a moment. David alternates the contrasting scrape of teeth and hot lips against the hardened bud.

David abandons Richard's chest to fall back on the bed. Richard braces his hands on his chest and they begin to fuck in earnest. Richard uses his full body, leg muscles straining, stomach clenching and relaxing as he rocks his hips in time to David's thrusts. David's hands guide and push against Richard too, pushing him down, clinging to the small of his back and David bends his knees to lever deep into Richard with each thrust. They rise and fall with each surge forwards and upwards, hips bucking wildly, Richard braces himself against the bedhead and throws his hips back meeting David's every move.

Richard is babbling incoherancies and long strings of "ohgodohgodohgod." His biceps are working to hold himself steady, stretched out over David as he pushes back, sweat glistening on the smooth skin of his chest. His eyes open and they lock gazes, David watching him with glittering eyes.

Narrowing his eyes and curling his mouth up into a predatory smile, David loosens one hand from its grip at Richard's back. He draws his thumb to his own mouth and presses it, slowly, through his soft lips, to dip inside, before drawing it out again, langorously. His eyes lock with Richard's. David circles his thumb with the pointed tip of his tongue, swirling around and around before taking it into his mouth again, sucking until his cheeks hollow and releasing it with a pop.

Richard's eyes near pop out of his head and his breathing hits a high pitched, hyperventilating note as David smears his thumb across the swollen head of Richard's cock.

"DAVID!" Richard chokes, "No, no, no, no" he pleads desperately. Hips jolting, his whole body tenses up. Richard grinds his teeth and forces himself to look away as he fights to control his reactions.

David circles the head of his cock once more, a barely-there butterfly touch. "Richard," he croons, low and deadly. "Richard, I want to see you come undone."

Richard draws in a shuddering breath, controlling the exhale as he resumes their rocking pace. He turns his head to David and smirks, a touch of desperation around his eyes. He releases the headboard and dives down to claim David's lips, grounding himself as he thinks about what it's like to kiss David, the scrape of stubble, the intermingling of tongues, the space where David's mouth starts and his own stops becomes inconsequential.

He sucks David's sweet lower lip into his mouth, biting lightly before trailing bites down his throat. David's mouth is at his ear and he's talking.

"Richard," he growls softly, tongue skating along Richard's ear. "Richard, I can feel you clench around me." He's almost soothing and it's mesmerising. "Your whole body is poised, I can feel it, rising up inside you, the pleasure building."

Richard's teeth dig into David's neck.

"You want to let go, let it wash over you, the slide of my cock inside you. It's beautiful, can't you feel it Richard?"

David pushes him harder, thrusts into him in viciously, Richard's mouth is slack against his neck and he's breathing short shallow breaths, panting against his neck.

"I'm going make you scream and beg and come so hard and you're going to take me with you."

Richard abruptly pushes up and clamps a shaking hand over his mouth, "you have to shut up," he cries desperately. "Holy mother of God David, your _mouth_ you—"

David wraps a hand around Richard's wrist and uses his captured arm to roll Richard onto his back.

"Yes." he rises above him. "Now we're talking."

He clutches Richard's knees to his ribs and thrusts.

Richard's back arches and he throws back his head as David thrusts deep, the impact reverberating through his whole body. They rut mindlessly, bodies crashing together in an orgy of sensation. Richard moaning and pleading, David grunting gruffly with each forward plunge into Richard's body.

David tilts Richard's hips, increment by increment, leaning into him until the angle aligns perfectly and Richard flails wildly, he bows off up the bed in a perfect arc from head to hip before crashing back down again hollering. His body judders discordantly and he comes, a stream of white splashing across his stomach. His body is wracked by shockwaves washing through him, crashing over him and he spasms in a syncopated burst around David's cock. Richard's orgasm crashes over David and takes him with it too. His face screws up, eyes shut and every sinew of his neck taut as it roars through him. "Oh Christ," forced out with a lung-full of air as he spills into Richard. 

David's head falls with a thunk onto Richard's chest. All Richard knows is the thundering pulse in his ears and the warmth of flesh against him. All else is stillness.


End file.
